


Quiet Room

by werepenguins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Badwrong, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Penetrative Sex, Sexual assault of a minor by an adult, Sexual contact with someone who is drugged, further trigger warnings inside, sooooooo badwrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werepenguins/pseuds/werepenguins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always loved the sarcastic ones--especially when they were passed out cold in a locked, soundproof room and no one was looking for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Room

**Author's Note:**

> Further warning about triggers: in case you couldn't tell from the tags, Brunski sexually assaults Stiles after drugging him in the quiet room. There is a brief non-graphic description of him doing this to other patients in the past. His feelings toward the mentally ill are not positive, and there is some mild ableist language used. I do not condone or agree with any of the opinions or actions in this fic.
> 
> This piece of writing has absolutely no redeeming qualities. It is 100% badwrong. Read at your own risk.

He was half hard before they even got the kid into the quiet room.

This one was exactly his type, but not the type he usually went for in this place. Too lucid, too much of a risk that they’d realize what happened and tell someone who would take them seriously. He wasn’t too concerned about an accusation, to be completely fair, but the last thing he needed was someone looking too hard at his _other_ projects. So he usually stuck with the real crazies, the ones he could knock out on a regular basis and no one would bat an eyelash. But this one--he’d gotten under Brunski’s skin something terrible, and he couldn’t help himself. He’d have to be careful, the most careful he’d ever been, but it would be worth it.

He slipped back into the room a few minutes after the other orderlies had left to finish their rounds for the night. Stilinski was passed out in exactly the same place they’d left him, half-fetal, shirt hiked up just enough to see a sliver of skin on his stomach. Brunski locked the door behind him and turned back around to consider the unconscious teenger before him, trying to decide what he wanted to do. His hand slipped into his pocket to curl around the little tube of Vaseline that he carried for his non-existent “cracked hands” and a small piece of fabric for cleaning. Though he desperately wanted to, he couldn’t fuck the kid. That would definitely get him caught. Bruising or biting was out of the question too. No marks for daddy Sheriff to find. He could probably get himself off between the boy’s thighs, as long as he was mindful of chafing.

He tossed the Vaseline and rag on the ground beside the boy, dropping to his knees. He started by pushing the thin t-shirt up higher--he couldn’t completely undress him, in case someone did come to check on him and he had to cover up, but he wanted to look anyway. Stilinski was mostly lean muscle, baby fat melted away, just shy of a man. The light dusting of moles extended all the way down his body, and Brunski hated that he couldn’t leave marks; he would have loved to bite each one.

He glanced at his watch. 8:05. The next round would be at 9, but sometimes Sharon made her rounds early so she could be in time for the show she thought no one knew she watched in the break room. He’d have to be quick.

He rolled Stilinski onto his stomach and hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them halfway down his legs to bunch at the knees. With his legs straightened out, and Brunski straddling them and pushing them together, the boy’s thighs would be nice and tight. He took a moment to admire the boy’s smooth, soft-looking ass, and felt another pang of regret. Someday, he’d have to find this kid, somewhere far away from this job, and have him the way he wanted him. Someday.

Now, though, he just pulled his own sweatpants down far enough for his erection to bob out, standing at attention. He snatched the Vaseline off the floor and squeezed some out onto his fingers, rubbing it to warm it up a little, then stroking his dick with it. He had to use enough that there wouldn’t be friction, but not so much that it would be difficult to clean up. Luckily, he’d had a lot of practice. He straddled the boy, knees on the outside of Stilinski’s hips, and guided his dick between his thighs.

It was heaven.

Silky smooth, and the Vaseline made him glide into the tight crevice like silk. He groaned as he dropped his head to rest against Stilinski’s shoulder and slowly began to thrust. He grabbed Stilinski’s wrists gingerly and pulled them up to rest, crossed, above his head, and held them there. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend Stilinski was awake, and terrified, too scared to move an inch. The thought made him thrust faster, carefully controlling the power of his strokes, so as not to leave bruises.

“Fuck,” he murmured into the fabric of the kid’s shirt, and the words began pouring out of him. “Fuck, you little slut, fucking bitch--gonna fuck the shit out of you--”

His thrusts became faster and faster, and he could feel his orgasm building up fast, like he was fifteen again and it was the first time his dick had ever been in anyone.

“Gonna fuck the attitude right out of you, you little whore,” he growled as he felt the edge approaching, “See how cocky you are with a dick in your mouth. Maybe pass you around, always a few guys looking for something tight and pretty--” His thrusts grew uneven and he had to let go of the boy’s wrists so he wouldn’t squeeze too tight. “Fuck--fucking slut--”

With a shout, he came, painting the front of Stilinski’s thighs and the floor beneath him with cum. He thrusted a few more time, riding the orgasm as long as he dared to, then backed away, slipping out. He quickly tucked his dick back into his pants and rolled the boy out of the wet spot. He hadn’t made too much of a mess, most of his cum had ended up on the floor. He grabbed the rag and cleaned up, being extra careful with Stilinski’s thighs, making sure he got every bit. The skin would be at least a little slippery, but he hoped it wouldn’t be too noticeable.

He positioned the boy the way he’d been when Brunski had entered, pulling his pants back up and smoothing out the fabric. He looked as if nothing had happened. Brunski stood, admiring his handiwork for a few moments before unlocking the door and slipping back outside.

He paused, one foot in the hallway, and glanced back again, eyes lingering on the soft-looking mouth and the curve of his hip.

Someday.

He slipped out fully, shutting and locking the door behind him, and returned to his rounds.

**Author's Note:**

> if there is a hell, i've got a one-way ticket


End file.
